It is a quiet day, somehow saturated in a gentleness like whispering rain.
For me, it seems to hum with the underlying presence of eternal power that is the Spirit of Creation, in ways that reach out and almost touch the world around me. It is as the single droned note behind some of the heart-touching music of this life, without which that music would be superficially delightful but lacking all potential for drawing sobs of grief and joy from our hearts.
With Easter being so early this year, today is also the first day of Spring, and it is not easy to cast such things aside. It is of no real consequence and has no real meaning - the buds and shoots in gardens and countryside appear the same today as they did yesterday - but it generates its own feelings of expectation: something is in the air. Growth continues, imperceptible when viewed moment by moment, but taking today’s reality as the foundation for tomorrow’s hope in an unstoppable journey towards fulfilment and the bearing of fruit.
It is a quiet day: a day of comfort. It is a day of thanksgiving for what we have received, of appreciation for the support and the solace, for the strength and the consolation which is found in being a Christian. It is the day when we recall the foundation of Christ’s Church, and when our minds are carried back to a gathering of friends two thousand years ago.
The Eucharist was born this day. Our present priesthood was born this day.
Jesus had trained and taught his followers, grooming the twelve Apostles for their task when He would no longer be with them, and now, having prayed for them, He did something that (for me at least) gives rise to the droned note that underlies the whole day: He prayed for me.
For me, it seems to hum with the underlying presence of eternal power that is the Spirit of Creation, in ways that reach out and almost touch the world around me. It is as the single droned note behind some of the heart-touching music of this life, without which that music would be superficially delightful but lacking all potential for drawing sobs of grief and joy from our hearts.
With Easter being so early this year, today is also the first day of Spring, and it is not easy to cast such things aside. It is of no real consequence and has no real meaning - the buds and shoots in gardens and countryside appear the same today as they did yesterday - but it generates its own feelings of expectation: something is in the air. Growth continues, imperceptible when viewed moment by moment, but taking today’s reality as the foundation for tomorrow’s hope in an unstoppable journey towards fulfilment and the bearing of fruit.
It is a quiet day: a day of comfort. It is a day of thanksgiving for what we have received, of appreciation for the support and the solace, for the strength and the consolation which is found in being a Christian. It is the day when we recall the foundation of Christ’s Church, and when our minds are carried back to a gathering of friends two thousand years ago.
The Eucharist was born this day. Our present priesthood was born this day.
Jesus had trained and taught his followers, grooming the twelve Apostles for their task when He would no longer be with them, and now, having prayed for them, He did something that (for me at least) gives rise to the droned note that underlies the whole day: He prayed for me.
“I pray not only for these
but also for those
who through their teaching will come to believe in me.”
(John 17:20)
but also for those
who through their teaching will come to believe in me.”
(John 17:20)
I believe in Him through my own faith born of wondering and questioning, doubt and uncertainty, solitude and experience, but that has all been grounded in the teaching of parents, friends, teachers, religious and priests throughout my life. This whole process and network of faith, for all of us, is founded upon the work of the Apostles: we have come to believe in Him through their teaching.
That Jesus prayed for me and for you, for all our family and friends - living and dead - who have come to believe in Him, is a source of great strength when we fully grasp what that means, and having no less an impact are His next words when He prays “May they all be one ... so that the world may believe it was you who sent me.” (17:21), and again in verse 23, “may they be so perfected in unity that the world will recognize that it was you who sent me and that you have loved them as you loved me.”
How can we expect the world to come to believe in Him when the vast number of subdivided denominations of Christianity speak so loudly of disunity.
It is a quiet day: a day of prayer.
In thanksgiving, let us remember those priests who have played a part in our own spiritual journeys, and let us pray for all priests who today renew their vows.
Let us add our prayer to their own, that they may be renewed and sustained in their receptiveness to God’s grace and in the security and inner peace of an unquenchable faith; may they constantly manifest and express the gifts of humility and unity - the two qualities by which mankind shall most easily be drawn towards the truths they strive to convey and spread in the world around them.
How can we expect the world to come to believe in Him when the vast number of subdivided denominations of Christianity speak so loudly of disunity.
It is a quiet day: a day of prayer.
In thanksgiving, let us remember those priests who have played a part in our own spiritual journeys, and let us pray for all priests who today renew their vows.
Let us add our prayer to their own, that they may be renewed and sustained in their receptiveness to God’s grace and in the security and inner peace of an unquenchable faith; may they constantly manifest and express the gifts of humility and unity - the two qualities by which mankind shall most easily be drawn towards the truths they strive to convey and spread in the world around them.
May God grant each of us an awareness of our own responsibilities in sharing the gifts we have received. Just as we have come to believe through the example and teaching of others, so may our own lives draw others to believe.
.
